Pride brings a person low, but the lowly in spirit gain honour. Proverbs 29:23




They never really knew me,

If they thought that I was happy inside,

I was desolate.

And haunted by these images,

Of things that were once real,

In the past.

If they thought that I had plans,

They were wrong,

For I’d nowhere to go,

Nor was I making plans.

In fact, I was doubting life,

And trying to know that I was really alive.

The only times when these feelings were valid,

Was when I was laughing or crying.

Singing and dreaming.

But it’s always hard,

To find that euphoria that for the past year,

I’ve been searching for.

And instead, found a new one.

And now, I’ve been searching for peace.



I should be glad,

That for no reason whatsoever,

I finally managed to weep.

When for so long,

It seemed like it would forever,

Be contained and bottled up.



In another life, I am the villain. And the person that I hope to capture in some photograph is the dreaded me.

In another life I no longer dance among the stars, instead I glide across the blue skies of Summer days.

In another life, I do not have the pout that everyone tells me to get rid of, instead everyone praises my beaming smile.

In another life, the ones around me aren’t in conflict, they are sitting on thrones of peace in their dominion of glory.

In another life, I have not yet come to know the meaning of shame and yet at the same time I know what it is.

In another life, I do not have the many scars that I’ve acquired in my toils, but faded memories of a nostalgic ordeal in a world of bliss exist.

In another life, life is sweeter than honey and as pretty as a picture, but here the colours are painted with greys and blacks; monotone sets the scene for my life.

In another life, I haven’t cried yet; I’ve only laughed and smiled,

In another life, the person I am now is the person I will capture in a photograph.



All those years I’d heard her cry,

And I’d pray and hope that she’d stop,

That she would stop crying,

And continue living her life,

With us by her side.

But it took me too many years,

Of pain and torture, I alone endured,

The walls that I was trapped in,

And the streets that raised me,

To understand why I could no longer,

Tell her that it would be alright,

And instead,

Join her in her weeping.



Truthfully, I’m scared for the winter that will come. I’m scared for the cold that will surround me. But moreover, I’m scared for the coldness I’ll see in the neighbourhoods around me. Summertime nights, rolling into the car park, eating out late, 2AM and I can still smell the smoke wafting up our windows from the house in front. All in my mind is fire. But in winter, as night hits by 5PM all the doors are closed, curtains drawn and the wind beating against the windows is all I hear. I’m scared, to wake up and see the grey sky. Because honestly, it reminds me of the dark days when I couldn’t speak to you. But I’m praying this time, that we won’t repeat the dark days…let’s end the silence.



You know, she always used to tell me,

“When I was young I could’ve been anything,

I ever dreamed; I could make,

My wildest dreams no more fantasy,

But a reality.”

Her eyes dazzled like a thousand diamonds,

When she spoke about it,

And she wiped away a tear as she spoke.

I could feel the memories of her youth,

Emanating into the room,

Turning it from the desolation it was,

To a kingdom.

So I wondered at this freedom,

She possessed and imagined her,

A ruler, an empress,

But she told me after,

“…Even with all this,

The one thing that I could never achieve,

Was my happiness.”



I promise that these tears,

My midnight weeping,

Are for you.

I’m crying for you,

That you might be here.



Originally, I guess I was the one,

Waiting for you to turn towards me.

But it turned out that I couldn’t be there,

Anymore for you to turn to.

I made you free from one more option.

But maybe your decisions,

Were set in stone,

So why did it always feel like the opposite?



How am I supposed to tell them that I simply don’t want be like them? That I want to be free and it’s all I desire. I know that from freedom comes the sensation of peace. But they won’t listen. They force me to do what they want so that they can get what they want. But it seems all so wrong to me in my mind. If it is wrong, then I am not the one at fault. If I am wrong, I may be at fault but I don’t think that I’ll ever stop fighting and rejecting what is being offered.



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